


The Ghost of You

by nh8343



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: AU, Ghost!Pete, I wrote this while bored in economics last spring idk, M/M, Minor Angst, Supernatural - Freeform, think around 2005 or 2006 I guess, young adult!Peterick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2269605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nh8343/pseuds/nh8343
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick didn't think his first encounter at Oak Woods Cemetery would be with a ghost in Hot Topic skinny jeans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghost of You

Patrick was disappointed but unsurprised to discover that his only viable job option was the night shift at the graveyard.

He composed and mixed music during the day, which didn’t exactly rake in the cash, forcing him to get a “real” job if he wanted to keep his house and be able to eat. Unfortunately, his schedule ruled out every “normal” job that had working hours before sundown. And so he had ended up here at Oak Woods Cemetery, shivering in his sweatshirt and blue jeans.

The wind rattled through the tree branches, threatening to blow Patrick’s hat off of his head. Somewhere nearby, a crow cawed. The moon glowed in the night sky, casting eerie shadows over the ground.

Patrick may or may not have been scared out of his mind.

Taking a deep breath, he gripped his flashlight tighter and took his first few steps deeper into the cemetery. The grass crunched underneath his shoes, but otherwise, save the buzzing of the katydids, the place was quiet ━ uncomfortably so.

Patrick’s job was simple: check the locks on the gates continuously throughout the night, make sure no one snuck in, and ━if he was so inclined━ check the tombstones for signs of vandalism or general destruction. It seemed like it would end up being an uneventful eight hours.

Which was why Patrick nearly had a heart attack when he came face-to-face with the ghost.

He made some sort of sound that came out more like a squeak, turning to run but instead tripping over his own feet. When he lifted his head, the glowing figure was kneeling right in front of him, looking curiously at his face. 

Patrick was too terrified to do anything but silently stare, his eyes taking in the spirit that was probably about to kill him. Obviously flat-ironed black hair, fringe falling just above his eyes, pronounced cheekbones, dark eyes, battered gray hoodie, possibly the skinniest jeans known to mankind...okay, so this ghost-boy wasn’t exactly the picture of horror. But still ━ a _ghost_. Less than two feet away from him.

"What’s your name?” The ghost-boy asked, surprising Patrick by actually sounding… completely normal.

“P-Patrick,” he sputtered. “I’m Patrick.”

Ghost-boy smiled. “Nice to meet you, Patrick. I’m Pete. Sorry I scared you, but...well, ghosts can’t exactly give a warning before we appear. Silent footsteps and all that.”

Right. Of course. This entire situation was totally normal, and Patrick would not flip his shit.

“You aren’t what I expected,” ghost-boy ━no, Pete━ continued. “Normally the person who works the night shift is some grumpy old man who I’d never want to talk to.”

“You’re not, um, what I expected either,” Patrick said, finally sitting up.

“What, am I supposed to be scarier? No, wait ━ you probably thought ghosts were taller.” Pete laughed, and he got to his feet. He held out a hand, saying, “Here, let me help you up.”

Patrick hesitated, but he tentatively reached out, only to have his hand pass through Pete’s like there was nothing there.

Pete sighed, his glow dimming a few shades. “I _still_ can’t touch living people. I thought it might be different this time, but…” He trailed off. “I guess it was worth a shot.”

Moody wasn’t a good look on Pete. When Patrick got up, brushing dirt off of his pants, he scrambled for a subject change, asking, “Can everyone see you?”

“Nope. I get to pick who does. All ghosts do, as far as I know, but I’m the only one around here.”

“And why did you choose me?”

Pete face broke into a wide grin, which should have told Patrick he had set himself up for this one. “I only pick the pretty ones.”

Patrick really, _really_ hoped his red face wasn’t visible in the light of Pete’s glow, and...nope, it definitely was, if said ghost’s cackling was anything to go by. Awesome.

“C’mon, Patrick,” Pete managed to get out between bouts of laughter. “This graveyard isn’t going to patrol itself.”

~*~

The hours flew by that night, fast enough that Patrick thought he was hallucinating when he saw faint traces of red and yellow on the horizon. Pete was quite the distraction, switching from topic to topic almost faster than Patrick could process, and Patrick found himself laughing more during the time he spent with Pete than he had in the past five years. It was almost like having a best friend.

“The sun’s coming up; I’ve got to go,” Pete said suddenly. He sounded...regretful? Sad? Something like that.

“I’ll see you again, though, won’t I?” Patrick couldn’t stand it if this was a one-time thing. Pete was the first person ━okay, ghost, but there really wasn’t that much of a difference━ to make him feel like he was important in what felt like forever. If Pete didn’t come back, Patrick would be alone again.

Pete gave him a funny look, like he didn’t think someone would actually want to hang out with him, but a hesitant smile crept across his face. “I suppose I’ve got nothing better to do, huh?” He laughed. “I’ll find you tomorrow night. You work tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, Monday through Thursday I’ll be here.”

“Good.” Pete turned to go, calling, “See ya, ‘Trick!” before he disappeared behind a tall group of graves.

Patrick passed it off as pure surprise when the stupid nickname sent a warm feeling washing from his head all the way down to his toes. What else could it be?

~*~

True to his word, Pete returned the following night, sneaking up behind Patrick before scaring him with a shout. This, of course, was enough for Pete to descend into a fit of laughter, which only intensified when Patrick attempted to shove him away and only accomplished falling through him and smacking into the ground.

Well this was just lovely.

“Hey, Patrick, you’re okay, aren’t you?” Pete finally paused to ask. If Patrick didn’t know better, he’d say Pete actually sounded concerned.

“Yeah, as good as I can be considering I was just _scared out of my mind_ , you idiot.”

“Hey, I’m a ghost. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“Right.”

~*~

The rest of the week, as well as the next, proceeded in much the same way. Patrick would start his shift, Pete would try to scare him in some new creative way, and they would pass the time exchanging stories about their lives. Except...that wasn’t exactly true. Patrick told Pete everything: dreams, fears, every opinion he had about music, but Pete...Pete shared bits and pieces, most of which seemed incredibly general, and he never _ever_ talked about his death.

Still, Patrick began to live for the time they spent together. It was unhealthy; he had started to fall behind on his music because he spent every waking hour with his mind wandering to what he would tell Pete the next time they talked.

The second weekend had hit Patrick like a bucket of ice. He had grown so accustomed to Pete, Pete, Pete, and then suddenly he was alone. He might have been desperate enough to go see Pete anyway, but the cemetery wouldn’t have been accessible without the key. Friday through Sunday night were all-around miserable.

Pete seemed to have fared even worse. Monday night, when they finally saw each other again, he he was so incredibly relieved, so vulnerable, that he looked like he could cry. All Pete said was “I missed you,” but Patrick felt a sudden overwhelming urge to embrace him, to touch him, to _anything_. It was scary; where had these feelings come from? It was almost like...no, Patrick wasn’t going to dwell on it any further. He had enough problems as it was.

“I missed you, too,” Patrick said, embarrassment washing through him when his voice cracked.

For once, Pete didn’t laugh. He gave Patrick a warm smile, and they walked together in companionable silence. When Pete broke it some time later, it was like Patrick had never left.

~*~

Thursday came too fast. They didn’t talk about the approaching weekend the whole night, until Patrick’s shift was almost up.

“Patrick…” Pete started, not making eye contact, “I, um...I don’t think I can make it through another weekend without seeing you. I know it sounds stupid, but━”

“It’s not stupid,” Patrick said, cutting him off. “I hated it, too.”

“Could you come here anyway? I know you’re not working, but we could still talk.”

Patrick frowned. “I would, but I don’t have the key, and the gates will be locked.”

“Maybe we could just talk through the gate, then?” Pete met Patrick’s eyes, desperation starting to show in his expression. Patrick wondered exactly how lonely it was when Pete was by himself among the headstones night after night. He imagined it was bad enough to drive a spirit insane.

An idea popped into Patrick’s head, so obvious he wondered how he hadn’t thought of it before. “Pete...have you ever tried to _leave_ Oak Woods?”

“Many times, but it never worked. I can only leave if--” Pete froze, realization seeming to dawn on him. “You might be on to something, ‘Trick. I have an idea, but I need you to come here ━just for a few minutes━ tomorrow night.”

“Sure, but what━?”

The smile was back on Pete’s face. “I’ll tell you if it works.” He looked like his mind was on a different planet. “See you tomorrow night, Patrick.”

“See you.”

~*~

The cemetery was close enough that Patrick didn’t have to take a car from his house ━ which was good, because he had no idea how the laws of physics applied to ghosts. Pete walked normally on the ground inside the graveyard, but he might sink through Patrick’s car...assuming he actually could leave, that was.

Patrick met Pete at the front gate, greeting him through the iron bars.

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast,” Patrick told him. “I don’t want to be arrested for something as dumb as loitering.”

Pete gave him a nervous smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll know if this works in the next minute.”

He closed his eyes, a look of concentration on his face. He started to take a step forward through the gates, but his leg froze, as though an invisible barrier stood in the way.

“Patrick, take my hand,” Pete said suddenly, still not opening his eyes.

“But I can’t actually...nevermind.” He snaked his arm through the bars and put his hand where Pete’s was. They weren’t exactly holding hands ━it was like Pete’s hand wasn’t even there━ but it was a suggestion of the action.

“I’ve got you ━ sort-of,” Patrick said. “But what are you going to…” He trailed off when he saw Pete shaking his head.

“Just let me concentrate.”

For a few moments, nothing happened. Then Pete gritted his teeth, glowing even brighter than usual, and took a step through the gates.

And just for a few fleeting seconds, his hand was solid beneath Patrick’s own.

Patrick yelped, unable to resist yanking his hand away. But the look on Pete’s face made him immediately forget the shock; Pete looked like he didn’t know whether to panic, cheer, or cry.

“It actually worked,” he breathed, looking at Patrick in wonder. “I mean, I wanted it to, but I didn’t actually think...oh my god.”

“But why _did_ it work? I thought you told me you were permanently trapped.”

Pete chuckled, fiddling with the zipper on his hoodie like he always did when he got nervous. “This is going to sound beyond ridiculous.”

“Try me.”

“Alright, you asked for it. So, I couldn’t leave the cemetery because I was buried there. I had a really strong connection to that place, right? Death is one of the most powerful forces out there. But here’s one thing stronger than death.”

Patrick felt something he couldn’t name stir in his stomach. “Love.”

If Pete wasn’t a ghost, Patrick swore he would have been blushing furiously as he answered, “Yeah, but not necessarily in the way you’re probably thinking. If I get attached to a person ━more than I am to my grave━ I get more freedom. I get to go wherever they ━well, _you_ ━ go.”

Patrick was trying really hard to not spontaneously combust. Okay, so Pete was playing the “attachment” angle. But it still had implications that he didn’t want to consider and feelings that he didn’t want to put a finger on. 

_Love._

He wasn’t crazy, was he? Because he might be falling━

“As much as I appreciate you staring at me, Patrick, this is kind-of a dream come true, so...can we go back to your house or something? I want to see where you spend all of your time away from here.”

“Sure.” Nope, that wasn’t suggestive at all. At _all_. “Do you still need me to touch you, or…?”

Pete burst into another fit of laughter before the question was even finished. “I’m fine, ‘Trick,” he said with that stupid infectious grin. “Let’s go before you embarrass yourself even more.”

~*~

As it turned out, Pete really _didn’t_ need pseudo-physical contact to stay outside of Oak Woods. Provided Patrick stayed in his general vicinity, he had no trouble walking back to the house. He didn’t even sink through the floor, which prevented a whole other set of problems.

There was one exception, of course: objects weren’t solid for Pete unless Patrick was in contact with them. This was inadvertently discovered when Pete followed Patrick’s lead in flopping down on the couch. Everything was relatively normal ━ until Patrick stood up to grab himself a can of coke and Pete disappeared beneath the cushions.

“Pete?” Patrick had asked, completely at a loss. When he didn’t get a response, he called again, “Pete!”

Fortunately, Pete had recovered from being disoriented, and he reappeared in front of the couch, looking just as confused as Patrick felt.

Through a few more experiments and mishaps, they had worked out the physical contact rule. Now they both sat together on the same couch as before, chatting like they always did.

Patrick was in the middle of a sentence when he let out a loud yawn.

Pete frowned. “Have you been getting enough sleep? I didn’t really notice it before, but...you look exhausted.”

“No, I’m fine. I just━” He yawned again, which really didn’t help his case. “I take naps before and after I come see you, but I normally go to sleep early on the days I don’t work at the graveyard to make up for lost sleep.”

“And I’ve kept you up when you really need to go to bed. I’m really sorry, ‘Trick.”

Patrick grinned. “Are you kidding me? This is so much better than the alternative. I can sleep when I’m...on second thought, I’m not going to finish that sentence.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ve had three years to get over being a ghost; I think I can handle the occasional dead joke.”

That was the first time Pete had ever talked about his death. Patrick was so stunned, he almost forgot to reply.

“Three years in Oak Woods? How are you still sane?”

Pete looked away again. “Honestly? I probably wouldn’t be if you hadn’t shown up when you did. I was starting to feel like I did before…” He didn’t complete the thought. “It was getting bad.”

Silence hung heavy in the room.

“Pete━”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Pete snapped. Patrick must have looked hurt, because he softened his tone and said, “I’m sorry, but I know what you’re going to ask, and I...I just can’t.”

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t, but thanks anyway.” His hands were back to playing with his zipper. “I don’t want to keep you up. Go get some sleep, and I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

“Um...alright.” Patrick’s heart dropped. “Same deal as tonight?”

Pete nodded, looking at anything but Patrick, who unwillingly went upstairs. He passed out almost immediately, still in the clothes he had worn the whole day, and his dreams were filled with a sinking feeling that he had ruined the best thing he had ever had.

When he woke up, Pete was gone.

~*~

It took nearly 20 minutes for Patrick to work up the courage to go get Pete from Oak Woods. After last night, he was honestly afraid that he had screwed up their weird, codependent friendship. He figured that either their conversations were going to be awkward beyond belief, or else Pete would just stop showing himself ━ he was probably going to live forever, so there was no reason why he couldn’t just wait for someone new to talk to. If Patrick just didn’t go to the graveyard, he could tell himself that neither of those things would happen, that Pete actually would choose him, that everything could go back to the way it was.

Eventually he realized how incredibly stupid this logic was, and that’s when he finally laced up his shoes and opened the door to the brisk night air.

He wasn’t expecting Pete to be standing on his front steps.

“Pete? How━?”

“We need to talk.”

Pete stepped around Patrick and through the doorway, going to stand next to the couch in the next room. Patrick was confused as to why he didn’t just sit down until he remembered that he couldn’t sit down ━ not without Patrick’s help. It seemed rude to do anything other than sit down in the seat right next to where Pete was standing and save his list of questions for later.

Pete slowly sank down next to him, drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging his arms around his legs. He was silent for a minute, but finally he looked over at Patrick and the words began to flow from behind the dam.

“I killed myself three years ago,” he began. His voice on the surface made it sound like it was no big deal, but Patrick knew Pete too well to fall for it. He heard the anguish, the guilt underneath the words. “I’d been thinking about it for a while, you know,” Pete continued. “Planning how I was going to do it, wondering if people would start caring after I was gone. My mother had already left a few years earlier, and my father apparently got off beating the shit out of his little emo screw-up of a son, so it wasn’t like anyone was going to miss me.”

Pete’s fingers dug into his arms, and Patrick could feel the anger coming off of him in waves. “And you know what? No one _did_ fucking care. I woke up as a ghost a day or two after the funeral, and once I stopped freaking out and figured out what was going on, I went and visited my father. I let him see me, and do you know what that drunk bastard he said? ‘I don’t know what you’re expecting to find here, Peter, and I don’t know why you haven’t just died. But do me a favor ━ never come back.’ He said that to me. To his _son_.”

Slowly, Pete unclenched his hands. The anger ebbed away from his face. “So I did leave, and the one other connection I had to a place was severed. The graveyard sucked me back in. I spent the next three years alone until I saw you, someone I finally felt compelled to talk to. But you have to understand, Patrick, that meeting you wasn’t about me being bored, or lonely, or whatever; I was going insane. I was in a dark place, just like I had been before I overdosed, except there wasn’t a way to escape. I was already dead. I know it didn’t seem that way when I met you, but...I don’t know. I thought if I could convince myself that I was happy, I would actually _be_ happy. And it actually worked. You saved me, ‘Trick, from everything, and I didn’t want to seem too clingy or desperate before, but you deserve the truth.”

Pete took a deep breath. “You mean everything to me,” Pete said. “I’m not exaggerating. And I just...I need to know now if _this_ ,” He gestured between the two of them, “whatever it even is, doesn’t mean even half as much to you, and if you’ve only been humoring me so far. Because if that’s true, I need to stop seeing you before...well, I need to stop.”

Patrick was speechless. How did he ━a musician probably destined for failure, an astoundingly average individual━ mean so much to someone when all he had done was try to be a decent human being?

“Pete…” Patrick finally said, his voice gentle. God, how we wished he could just take the hands of the boy in front of him. He wished he could somehow show Pete how much someone _did_ care. He managed to get the rest of the words out. “You don’t have to worry about being alone, okay? You really don’t. My whole life has pretty much turned into revolving around you, too. You’re honestly the best friend I could have asked for. No one else ever _listens_. I know it’s not the same as what you went through, and this probably sounds really whiny and selfish━”

“Selfish? Are you serious, ‘Trick? You give up every night, even when you’re not working, to keep me sane. If that’s not unselfish, I don’t know what is.”

Patrick couldn’t help but smile. “As much as I appreciate you defending my honor, I was in the middle of pouring my heart out, you know.”

“Well, you don’t have to embarrass yourself,” Pete said with a smile that nearly matched Patrick’s own. “I get it; you’ve convinced me.” His expression sobered. “In all seriousness, Patrick, thank you. Thank you for listening and...you know. Everything else.”

“Any time ━ I mean it.”

“Sap. I don’t know what I did to end up stuck with you.”

Back to familiar territory. The moment was over, but Patrick could sense that something had changed. Some integral shift had taken place in the past few minutes between himself and Pete. What did it mean? Patrick had no idea. But as he sat there on the couch facing Pete, an idea started forming in the back of his head. It was possibly insane and probably ridiculous, but an idea nonetheless.

Patrick said none of this to Pete. Instead, he grinned a little wider and shot back, “Clearly, you won the Nobel Peace Prize and ended world hunger. Only the best of ghosts get the honor of my presence.”

“Douche.”

“Idiot.”

~*~

In the days that followed, Patrick made it his mission to see if there was any possibility of bringing Pete back as a living, breathing human. Said mission generally consisted of furious researching in both the local library and at too-late hours on Google ━ hours that should have been spent actually getting some much-needed sleep.

At this point, the percentage of his salary spent on caffeinated beverages was verging on obscene.

Pete had noticed Patrick’s growing exhaustion ━he still came over every night, and it was hard not to tell━ but he hadn’t yet figured out what Patrick had been up to. Patrick figured it was useless to tell him unless there was actually a lead. No point in getting his hopes up if it was impossible.

That was the one thing Patrick tried not to consider: impossibility. That there was no way to bring Pete back. A couple months ago, he would have believed that without a doubt, but now... ghosts were real; who was to say that giving them life was out of the question?

It took nine days of fruitless searching before Patrick found any sort of promising lead. Granted, by then he was running on fumes and willing to believe just about anything, but it really did seem possible.

In a battered old book in the library, there was a piece of lore specifically referring to the possibility of resuscitating ghosts who had died before their time. The “possibility” aspect was repeated several times; the method didn’t have a 100 percent success rate. And if it failed to bring the ghost _back_ , it would banish them, sending them to...well, even the book was in the dark about that detail.

But there was a footnote on the page that had given Patrick hope: apparently, if the ghost was tied strongly enough to an object or, especially, a person who was still alive, there was a much greater chance that it would work. Patrick still couldn’t define it, but he knew he and Pete were connected. That had to be enough to save him.

The method itself seemed like something out of a fairy tale. It was based around some sort of spell, and in order to “cast” it, there was a whole list of things that were needed. Things, Patrick had noticed as he scanned the page, that would definitely qualify as “disturbing”: specific bones, holy water, the blood of the one casting the spell...it went on in much the same manner.

The second part of the method was a bit more ritualistic, but Patrick was much too eager to get started on getting all of the ingredients to take the time and read through all of it. Instead, he had a librarian make copies of the pages, mostly ignoring the strange look she gave him, and rushed home equipped with a fresh cup of coffee. Patrick would make this work; he had to.

He owed it to Pete.

~*~

“I need to talk to you about something,” Patrick told Pete that night. They were in their usual spots on the couch, legs curled up so that they could face each other without Pete’s limbs going through Patrick ━ that wasn’t an experience either of them were too keen on repeating.

“Sure, shoot.”

“Alright, so I’ve been doing some research…” Patrick paused, reaching to the side-table behind him and grabbing the marked-up scans. He held them up for Pete before continuing, “This is what I ended up finding.”

Pete leaned forward, eyes squinting as he scanned the pages. He only got through two or three lines before he fixed Patrick with a sharp look.

“Patrick, is this what I think it is?”

Well, great. He sounded _thrilled_ , Patrick thought sarcastically. “I wanted to see if it was possible. I didn’t actually expect to find anything, but━”

“You _believe_ this?”

Patrick was taken aback. “I don’t know why you sound so surprised, considering I didn’t think you existed not too long ago. Now I’m a bit more...open-minded.”

Pete shut his eyes and took a deep breath. When he reopened them, most of his usual calm had returned. “I get it, okay? But just because one supernatural thing turns out to be true doesn’t mean that every single fairy tale and piece of lore is, too.”

“But what if it is? What if there’s a chance that you could be alive again? That’s a chance worth taking.”

“Is it? There’s always a catch in all these old so-called ‘spells.’”

Patrick winced. “You got me there. There’s a reason I have to ask you permission before trying it out.”

“Thought so. What is it this time?”

“Death.”

“You’re joking.”

“Actually, no. It says here that if it fails, you disappear to who-knows-where.”

“In theory. You’re still assuming it’s not a bunch of superstitious nonsense.”

“I am. And if you think it’s worth the risk, I’m willing to try. I’ve got everything we need except for your remains, so━”

“Remains? ‘Trick, what the hell?”

“I know how it sounds. To be honest, this whole ritual sounds more than borderline satanic. But, I mean, it’s not like you’re currently using whatever’s left.” Patrick immediately wanted to slap himself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

Pete waved the apology away, but he wasn’t really focusing on the words coming out of Patrick’s mouth; he was staring at some point over Patrick’s shoulder, thinking.

“So let me get this straight,” he finally said. “You want to do some kind of witchcraft on my corpse, which may or may not work, and if for some reason it does, I may or may not be wiped from existence. Sound about right?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“Patrick.”

“Fine, yes. That’s what I’m asking, and I understand if you don’t want me to.”

Pete shrugged. “Sure, let’s do it.”

“It’s okay, I underst━ what?”

“I said yes. C’mon, let’s go.”

Patrick resisted the urge to pinch himself. There was no way he wasn’t dreaming, because why the hell would Pete be so agreeable, not to mention so nonchalant about it. Sure, he didn’t seem to believe any of this was true, but… “Right now? It’s, um...kind of sudden, don’t you think? Considering━”

“No time like the present,” Pete interrupted. “You’ve got everything else we need, right? There’s no reason we shouldn’t go as soon as possible.” 

“Alright…? Um, I suppose I’ll get the stuff we need together.”

Patrick was in such a state of disbelief, he didn’t bother questioning Pete any further. He got the bag of ingredients from the other room in a daze, just barely remembering to not leave without his jacket. This was good for the sake of his dignity, Patrick mused, because freezing to death while trying to resurrect your undead best friend seemed like an embarrassing way to go.

The walk to the cemetery was uncharacteristically quiet. Pete hovered next to Patrick at comfortable talking distance, but he didn’t say a word. At first, Patrick thought it might be fear finally catching up. His face gave nothing away, though, and it wasn’t as if Patrick was going to just come out and say, “Gosh, Pete, you look distressed at the thought of being snuffed out of existence. Want to talk about your feelings?”

Patrick could tell the moment they stepped into the graveyard’s vicinity, because Pete suddenly dropped a few inches, his shoes once again finding solid ground.

It was also at that moment that Patrick realized he was an idiot.

“ _Crap_ ,” he breathed. “I don’t have the keys.” Stupid, stupid. He hadn’t even stopped to consider that he couldn’t get in if he wasn’t working a shift. “I’m sorry, Pete, we’re going to have to do this another━”

“I’ve got this,” Pete cut in. “I’ve never tried it before, but it should work.”

“What, are you going to ghost back through the fence? I can’t exactly come with you.”

Pete shook his head. “No, something different.”

“You have _more_ superpowers? That’s...kind of awesome, actually.”

“You make it sound much cooler than it actually is.”

_“Pete.”_

“It is pretty awesome,” Pete admitted, cracking a smile. “Just stand back for a second and I’ll demonstrate.”

Intrigued, Patrick took a few steps back. He watched as Pete donned an expression of complete concentration, much like the night they’d first broken Pete out of the graveyard. Seconds ticked by, and Patrick felt nothing...until the air around them began to ripple, almost like a force field. The disturbance grew more pronounced, and a buzzing sound wormed its way into Patrick’s ears.

_It’s almost like there’s about to be an_ ━

Pete let out a yell, and the gate exploded. Patrick ducked as a piece of an iron bar came flying toward his head. The buzzing noise had stopped, but the explosion was bound to draw attention.

“Pete, we need to...Pete?”

The triumphant, possibly sheepish Pete that Patrick expected was not who he found. Instead, he found the young man in question shaking, looking horrified.

“I’m fine,” Pete said softly, though the sound barely reached Patrick’s ears. “It’s just…” He met Patrick’s eyes, his fear made plain to see. “Never let me do that again. Promise?”

Patrick nodded. “I promise.”

“Good.” Pete seemed to come back from whatever had terrified him. He gave Patrick a wan smile. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

“Hey!” a woman’s voice yelled from inside the graveyard. “What the hell do you hooligans think you’re doing?”

The beam of a flashlight pierced through the veil of fog, coming too close for Patrick’s comfort. He was about to tell Pete to hide when he realized that the woman couldn’t see Pete anyway ━ as far as Patrick knew, the only person Pete had revealed himself to was Patrick himself. But Patrick wasn’t invisible, and if he got caught…

“Don’t worry, ‘Trick, I’ll take care of it,” Pete said. The trademark mischievous twinkle was back in his eyes.

Pete ran through the gaping hole in the fence, and Patrick could just make out the scene of him approaching the woman on duty. What _wasn’t_ hard to figure out was the exact moment Pete revealed himself, if the high-pitched shriek that came from inside was anything to go by. The woman took off running toward one of the other gates, and Patrick was fairly confident that she wouldn't’ be giving them any more trouble.

The proud smirk on Pete’s face when he returned spoke volumes.

~*~

Standing next to Pete’s gravestone, Oak Woods seemed much creepier than Patrick was used to. Pete’s luminescence still lit up the area around them, as did the moonlight, and Patrick was long past jumping at every rustle of branches, but something still felt different about tonight.

Imminent witchcraft probably did that to a person.

Digging up Pete’s remains was harder than Patrick had expected it to be, especially since Pete couldn't use a shovel, but it got done regardless. Pete looked on while he set everything else up, spray-painting symbols on the ground around the open grave, mixing ingredients together and putting them in their places, and double-checking that the two pages of words he had to recite were in order.

It was time.

“You ready?” he asked. At Pete’s nod, he opened his mouth to begin, but a voice stopped him.

“Wait,” Pete said suddenly. “Um...I still don’t really think this will work, but if it does, and I, you know…” His nervous habit was showing again, his fingers twisting around the strings on his hoodie. “God, this is going to be embarrassing if ━when━ nothing happens, but I wanted to say that it’s been amazing knowing you, ‘Trick. I...yeah.”

“You, too.” Patrick said earnestly. He was trying so hard to not see this as goodbye. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.” No he wasn’t. “Just make sure you do what I tell you.”

Pete took a deep breath. “You’re right. Okay, go ahead and start.”

This time, there were no interruptions, and once Patrick started to read, the words rolled off his tongue like they wanted to be spoken. The trees almost seemed to lean in, listening in with anticipation. The moon seemed to glow a little brighter.

_“Benedicite spiritus, et audite vocem meam. Te ab altero. Transite ad me quia magnus. Non enim quaero auxilium Alia humanitate quaerit alia experiri.”_

Patrick motioned to Pete, who stepped into the open grave.

_“Lectos hoc corpore spiritus, ad restituendum qui ante fuerunt, et reducam eos in terram viventium. Convertimini, Convertimini, Convertimini!”_

Silence. Pete met Patrick’s eyes. Time seemed to stand still as they waited...and waited…

Patrick, I don’t think...I’m sorry.”

No, he had been so sure! The hunch he had that day at the library, the feeling while he’d been reading the words...had it all been in his head? Denial began to give way to despair, and Patrick would have broken down on the spot if it wasn’t for the way Pete suddenly started to ━ wait, was he...melting?

“What’s happening to your legs?” Patrick asked. Should he be panicking? 

“There’s nothing ━ _oh, what the hell!?_ ”

The word ‘melting’ wasn’t an exaggeration; Pete’s bottom half was quickly losing its form, pooling around the remains he was standing in -- standing being a relative term at this point since he was about to lose his legs entirely.

_He’s being swallowed by his own grave._

The thought was enough to snap Patrick out of inaction, but even after he’d rushed to Pete’s side, he still had no idea if there was anything he could do.

“Can you move?”

“No, I’m stuck! Was this supposed to happen!?”

“I don’t know! The book didn't give specifics on the actual outcome!”

“Should I be panicking right now!?”

“I don’t know!!”

Pete’s upper half was going now, the pace picking up at an alarming rate. Stomach, chest, hands, arms…

“Patri━!”

Gone.

All that remained was the pool of glowing white-gray ectoplasm lining the bottom of the grave. Patrick felt dizzy; his heartbeat seeming to freeze.

But before he could scream, faint, anything, he looked ━really looked━ at what was going on. The pool wasn’t just sitting there; it was moving to take the shape of...Pete. It gathered around the bones like they were a magnet, and each time a shadowy form of a limb was complete, it began to solidify into flesh.

“Oh my god,” Patrick whispered.

The legs took shape first. Muscles and tendons knitted themselves together, and Patrick under any other circumstances would have laughed, because those same ridiculous too-tight skinny jeans and faded gray hoodie were reforming right along with the rest of him. 

The process ━no, Patrick corrected himself, the _miracle_ ━ was quite literally over in a flash. A burst of light left Patrick momentarily blinded, and when his vision returned, there was Pete: standing just outside his grave in absolute shock, and human once again.

Pete looked at his hands in wonder. Gingerly, he reached out his fingers to brush against the marble of the headstone. When they made contact instead of passing through, a shudder ran through his body.

“Patrick…”

The instant their eyes met, they were rushing at each other, meeting in the middle in a tangle of limbs. Patrick couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed when he was finally able to hold Pete in his arms and started crying like a baby, partly because Pete had started doing the exact same thing. They probably both looked like red-faced, blubbering fools. But it didn’t matter, because it had worked and Pete was alive. Patrick managed to clutch him even tighter.

When they separated, it wasn’t by much. Pete kept his arms resting on Patrick’s shoulders, hands laced somewhere behind Patrick’s head, which left Patrick with really no other logical option but to keep his own arms around Pete’s waist (yeah, it was _so hard_ to be him).

Oh, there were kind-of only a few inches between their faces ━ that was new. Crazy how much more meaningful proximity was when there was actually body heat, skin-on-skin, the opportunity to just _feel_.

So of course Patrick preserved the sanctity of the moment and said the most heartfelt thing he could think of.

“Um...I think it worked.”

He could have pulled a Pete and melted into the ground out of sheer mortification.

Pete didn’t seem to mind, though. He laughed, tilting their foreheads together, and if Patrick thought they’d been close _before_ , well…

“You know,” Pete said softly, “I’m going to be extremely disappointed if you don’t kiss me in the next few seconds.”

“Well, we can’t have that.”

Sure, they’d never discussed it, but Patrick supposed it had become a silent agreement between them: Pete needed him, he needed Pete. Maybe it was unhealthy ━it screamed codependency━ but there was time to sort that out later. They had their whole lives, if they wanted. And so it was without a doubt in the world that Patrick finally closed the distance between them.

As fate would have it, it was pretty much everything he could have ever asked for.

\-----

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed my little one-shot! :) Special thanks to my sister, Lexie, for editing this and catching some pretty hilarious typos. xx


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